


The Family Bubble

by agidged



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:59:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agidged/pseuds/agidged
Summary: Franky is on parole. Things are going swell with Gidge. The Westfall parents are visiting.
Relationships: Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 18
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

It was getting close to 4:30 pm, and Bridget was trying to get away from work a little earlier than usual. She hoped this would not be a day when Vera needed extra reassurances. Her parents were coming to town to spend the weekend, and she wanted to get a start on it - stat.

Her parents (Jack and Eleanor) didn’t visit that often, but Bridget could count on a visit whenever her mother had an upcoming fancy occasion to attend. 

Bridget was the family’s fashion guru, not that it was an obsession, or, really, even an interest. Dressing well was just second nature to her. In all probability it was hereditary: her maternal grandmother was never anything but well-put-together, public appearance or not. And, it was not as if Eleanor didn’t have her own easy elegance. Bridget surmised that the trip was as much about meeting her ex-con girl as it was about shopping.

Both Eleanor and Jack were now in their 70’s. Eleanor was retired, having had a long career teaching English literature in inner-city classrooms. Jack had a string of letters behind his name, which he used authoritatively when required. He had chosen economics as his life’s work; or, as he liked to say, it had chosen him. 

His wasn’t the dusty bookshelf, Ivory Tower, clouds-in-the-sky abstractions. His was an uncommon feet-on-the-ground approach, and the convictions he held sprung from both his head and his heart. One of the flames that stoked his passion were the real-life scenarios his wife brought home from the other side of town. They grounded his considered opinions on the obscene wealth of the 1% - and the struggle for dignity of the working poor. Dr. and Mrs. Westfall’s social conscience was not bound by the random lottery that had landed them a privileged life. 

Jack was working a little less, though, now. So when his wife voiced her usual lament about having nothing to wear for whatever occasion (in his mind, he called it XYZ), he quickly made the suggestion: Let’s go see Bridget. In truth, any excuse would do.

So, this Friday morning they were enroute to Melbourne. Bridget would be at work when their plane touched down. They’d told her not to worry: they’d booked a rental car. Then, they’d take advantage of the trip to drop in on some old friends. They’d be arriving at Bridget’s at the end of the workday, and as habit goes, they’d all head out for a nice evening meal.

Bridget snapped shut the ever-hungry jaws of her laptop, and tidied her desk. She gathered her commutable items in the prison-sanctioned bag. As she reached for her keys she sensed a motion at the door. There was Vera – who else would it be?

But the Governor wasn’t alone. All signs pointed to the fact that Wentworth had gained a new inmate. Bridget did have a role in intake, but surely this could wait until Monday? 

Vera’s face was blanched, and she was more flustered than usual. Bridget peeked out past the blinds at the new arrival. The girl was super-young. Her head was downcast, and her body slumped with shame. 

With a rapid expulsion of breath, Vera filled in the details: this was Sophie Birdsworth, Liz Birdsworth’s estranged daughter. She had been remanded to this house of horrors on the serious charge of DUI and manslaughter. Bridget’s heart went out to the girl. What a sad, cyclical, terrifying case of familial déjà vu. 

She flung her clear bag back on the desk. She desperately wanted to take a minute to call or text Franky, but this was a crisis. Sophie had more than expressed suicidal ideation; the girl was that low. The situation demanded her professional laser focus. She kindly escorted Sophie Birdsworth into the green chair and began to treat her as if it were any other day.


	2. Chapter 2

Across town, in Bridget’s modest home, Franky Doyle was hard at work in the kitchen of her dreams. She had booked the arvo off from Legal Aid. She’d already been to the shops. There was a cut of lamb marinating in the fridge. 

She and Bridget had planned the menu together. They finally agreed on a classic roast lamb dinner, with Baked Alaska for dessert. Bridget would be in charge of the wine, a function of her familiarity with the chemistry of crushed grapes.

As much as cooking was second nature to her, and she loved it, Franky was acutely aware that, on this day, the stakes were unusually high. If she allowed herself to actually think about it, she’d probably be ill. 

This evening she would not be an anonymous chef working her magic behind a partition. She herself would be part of the meal’s success or failure. That fact scared the fuck right out of her. As a countermeasure to that unwelcome drumbeat, she was plugged in to beats and rhythms that were defs not of the old lezzo kind.

So she didn’t hear a key in a lock, the hustle and bustle of bodies and baggage, or the approaching click of shoes. She did sense a smell similar to, but not exactly, Bridget’s. It was that that made her whip around and absorb the presence of a silver-haired queen and a handsome, older gentleman with the most ocean-blue eyes. They stood there, surprised as she, luggage tugging at their grip. 

Alarm flooded her. What was all this, then? This was not the agenda confirmed at this morning’s goodbye.  
She was visibly flustered. Jack stepped toward her with an eager bounce. Warm energy spilled into the room as he reached for her hand. He made efficient work of the introductions: “You must be Franky!! I’m Jack, and this is my wife, Eleanor. I guess you know that we’re Bridgie’s parents!”

So not the formal Dr. and Mrs. as she’d assumed.

One would have to be blind not to notice the familial resemblance – not just visually, but in an uncanny similarity of presence. They radiated tranquility. One look into the Westfall eyes registered goodness and trust. 

At the same time this soothed her, her mind also screamed. She was uber-hyper-aware that she was now in the presence of her lover’s parents. She had never met anyone’s family before, be it friend or foe. In truth, she didn’t even know her own!

Terrified, but tough-enough, she showed them to the guest room. Minutes into the tour it dawned on her that, of course, they had been here before! She felt like a fool! 

Fuckin’ hell! Where the fuck was Gidge?!

While Jack attended to their luggage, Eleanor explained that they’d unexpectedly been put on an earlier flight. Ahead of schedule, they decided to head to Bridget’s first so that they could sort their bags and freshen up. And before Franky’s shock wore off, they were, as they said, ‘out of her hair’ in a sweeping flourish.


	3. Chapter 3

In the prison-counsel office, with the door closed, young Sophie sobbed her heart out in that worn-out chair. Bridget did her best to ignore the ticking of the clock. She hated the thought of cooping this girl up in the psych unit for the weekend; but realistically, it was the best of few options. She offered this as her professional opinion to Vera, all the while knowing she’d hear it from Liz Birdsworth on Monday morning. Be that as it may. Satisfied that she’d done all that she could, she rushed out the prison gates. 

While she was stopped in the inevitable traffic, she appraised her reflection in the rear-view mirror. This was not for vanity’s sake: it was a reality check. The face-to-face encounter about to occur would surely shine a light on the immutable age difference between hers truly and Franky Doyle. She wasn’t worried about it, per se, but she’d have to admit it was always there.

Bridget had seen her parents last in Sydney, some months ago, where she told them, (with some trepidation), of her relationship with Franky, and the complexities (and potential consequences) of how it all came about. 

Meeting Franky, today… she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She didn’t fear they’d judge (table manners be damned!). She knew them better than that: it was more their lack of exposure to persons so honest and raw – or, let’s say – to spending time with parolees bearing brightly-coloured tattoos. The prospective encounter had reeled through her imagination all day. 

Her parents’ rental car was nowhere in sight when she pulled into her drive. She expelled her breath slowly to ground herself and gain some calm before she entered the house.

As usual, her bags fought with the door. Once safe in her sanctuary, she called out for her girl. Franky appeared for their habitual caress. Bridget decided to ignore the smirk on Franky's face – the one that simultaneously annoyed her and pulled her in. She sniffed the air for exaggerated affect. The tantalizing aromas made her giddy. Her parents would think they’d entered the wrong house! She couldn’t wait!

As she rounded the kitchen, her heart swelled at what could only be described as a labour of love. She tossed Franky a good dose of thanks - and praise - over her shoulder, and made quick progress down the hall. Priority one these prison-tinged clothes. 

Franky waited. 

Click, click, click, click. Stop! 

Bridget whipped around in search of Franky. Her fine face was etched with confusion. 

“Franky!!” Her tone was sharp. “What the fuck?!” 

She assessed the room again. “They were already here??!”

“Ohhhh baby!!” Her look and her tone changed to genuinely stricken. She had totally failed to imagine this scene. Poor Franky!

But Franky seemed no worse for the wear. In fact, Franky was enjoying this a bit too much. 

“Ya said you’d be home early, Gidge. Relax! No harm, no foul.” She didn’t tell her she’d probably played the fool. She added: “You’d better get your ass changed, or it’ll be me who has to greet them again.”

Bridget swiftly changed into a black cashmere sweater and jeans. She charged out of the room, giving Franky’s shoulder a bump for good measure. 

Franky trailed her, laying it on. “You look super hot, Spunky. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you tonight. It’s a big ask, you know…”

“Bigger than all this?” Bridget’s eyes softened as her arm swept the kitchen. But they quickly hardened - real, or pretend - Franky couldn’t tell. “I’d say that you’d best keep your hands to yourself.”

Franky had to take back control, all cock of the walk. She started to close the gap between them. “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t ....” 

The doorbell interrupted their everlasting banter. Bridget spun toward the door. Her momentum stopped at mid hip-swing.

The table was set with exquisite care. 

“Baby!! I’m speechless!” Her tone was soft again. 

But that – that Franky couldn’t resist. “Not the first time you were speechless at that table, hey?” 

The doorbell rang again, and they heard the handle open. From where she stood, Bridget could feel Franky tense. She shifted back to Franky; clearly, one thing yet to do. She leaned up and gave her a quick kiss. She peered deeply into her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I love you, and they’ll love you.” 

She held Frank’s frozen gaze. “Okay?” she repeated.

Franky nodded shyly and she turned to the door.


	4. Chapter 4

“Helllllooooo!” Eleanor called. 

“Mom! Dad! You’re here!” Bridget waited a beat and swung her head to bring Franky in to the conversation. “Again… as I hear.” Jack simultaneously stepped forward and threw back his head for a deep, rumbly laugh. He could see right through her. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he consoled. 

As Bridget lead them in, she couldn’t resist another swing. She glared at her father. “You’ve already met Franky?” 

Jack’s response was a gigantic hug. When he let her loose her mother followed up with three kisses: left cheek, right cheek, left.

Franky cautiously stepped forward. She felt much more prepared (and tidier) than before, but still…. Jack drew her in for a one-armed hug, then an elbow nudge and a wink. Eleanor looked at her fondly, and kissed her cheek. 

Franky felt like she’d dropped into a fairy tale. 

Dinner was marvellous in every way. Each bite of herb-crusted lamb was perfection itself. Bridget’s parents were beyond impressed: the compliments didn’t cease. Franky squirmed under them. Bridget had to say it too. She beamed at her partner. “I am so proud of you, baby!!”

Eleanor smiled at the sight. Love’s bloom was unmistakeable. In the exchange she saw mutual respect – but way more than that. What she glimpsed was adoration. 

Of course, she and Jack had their misgivings when Bridget first spilled her story. In the past, they had urged Bridget toward several matches that were perfect on paper. But none had seemed to take. They’d adapted to the fact that she was married to her work, and while there was worth in that, they hoped that someday their wonderful daughter would give love a chance. But never in their wildest dreams would they have cooked up the scenario unfolding now before their eyes! 

But here they were: around Bridget’s dining table (!), enjoying a 5-star meal, whipped up by the girl for whom their Bridgie had obviously fallen so very, very hard.

Jack raised his glass. “To locks and keys.” He waited a pulse for Bridget’s eyes to meet his. She rolled hers at the corny double entendre. Happiness transformed his whole face.

Dessert was just as successful. There was an enormous amount of ooh-ing and ahhh-ing. Franky took advantage of a short silence to direct the conversation to the inevitable: “So, tell me about Gidget.”

Eleanor didn’t hesitate. “Well,” she gazed lovingly at Bridget, “One might say she broke the mold. From the moment of birth, we knew she was one-of-a-kind.” Jack beamed and nodded at his wife’s nostalgic glance. 

Franky pressed: “How so?”

Bridget dipped her head and brought her hand to her cheek. There seemed to be little choice: she’d have to wait this out.

Eleanor’s reminisced. “She was so curious…” A 40+year history passed through the three Westfall glances. Eleanor reached to give Bridget a motherly rub on the arm. 

Jack cleared his throat. Energy sparked. Bridget peeked at Franky from under her hand. “Don’t believe anything they say, baby.”

Jack jumped in. “What was it, El? That time in elementary school when she told the kids -” 

“I think it was grade 3 or 4,” said the mother (who always knows).

Bridget rose from the table abruptly, but returned in but a jiff. She held up a new bottle of wine. She silently filled her glass to the top.

Jack plowed on: “She tells the kids in her class that she went to Laos! Laos!! By herself!!”

“Maybe I did, in my mind,” Bridget lifted her chin, and topped her glass.

Franky snorted. She was rewarded with a kick in the shin.

“The kids thought -” Jack could barely speak. “They thought, though, that she said she had lice!!”

Three roared with laughter. One waved her hand in the air and fluttered her eyes. 

“And – and Bridgie said -” She snorted, which made Franky howl. “Bridgie said: ‘I’m still me, so who cares?!’ - Imagine!!”

Franky’s laughed uproariously. She nearly peed her pants right then and there.

Begrudgingly, Bridget yielded a grin but tamped it with a shrug of her shoulders. “So what?!” 

Her eyes flashed with both mirth and defiance. 

Franky felt so full, so free. She put her arm around Bridget and drew her to her. “Oh, Spunky!!” She gave her Spunky a gentle kiss on the forehead. 

Eleanor gained control of her voice. It appeared she had more. She directed her comments to Franky. “Day after day, she’d ask if I’d take her to my school with me. One day I finally asked her, “But why?” 

Jack and Eleanor chimed the answer in tandem, replicating the ‘obviously’ tone: “Because the kids there are more interesting!!” 

Franky’s eyes watered and she scrunched her mouth down. She tried to keep it in: the look, (that look!), the voice (that voice!), the calm, unfazed woman in the green chair whose trustworthiness compelled her, drew her, irresistibly in. “Come on, these walls don’t talk!! I want to get inside that mind of yours…” 

With pushing and prodding, Gidge deftly breeched her defences and she let her in.

She missed most of what Jack said next.


	5. Chapter 5

At times she thought she must be someone else – or, maybe for once she was having a lucky, feel-good dream. Franky subtly pinched herself while conversation in the living room ebbed and flowed around her. Once, she even patted the loveseat cushion to see if it was real. 

She sat there, accepted for who she was, just as she was, bathed in Westfall unconditional love. Her Gidge sensed the emotion and shifter her body that much closer to hers. 

It was shortly after midnight when they said their good-nights. This included, of course, a circle of compliments back to the amazing meal.

Bridget closed their bedroom door and stood against it. She drew Franky into her arms. “Baby,” she said it so softly. If Franky’s soul wasn’t hungry with such longing, she might not have heard it. Bridget buried her head in Franky’s chest. “I love you so much!” 

Franky stepped back to look her in the eye. Her face was stark, sombre. More sincerely than she had ever uttered any other words before, she told her: “Tonight was the best, Gidge.” Bridget nodded, knowing she said much more than she could say. 

She took the lead to get undressed, climbed into bed and threw back the covers. Her calming, “Come, darling. Let’s get some sleep” was a direction that Franky, feeling befuddled, needed. A solemn, shaken Franky slipped in between luxurious sheets. The lovers kissed a lingering goodnight. 

Franky flipped on her stomach, one arm tucked under her pillow. She gazed into the darkness, not sure that sleep would come. She felt Bridget’s warm hand on her back. It rubbed up and down, until the motion faltered and the hand slipped away.

The sun announced the freshness of the day as it filtered through the large glass panes. From their bed, they had a view of leafy trees slightly swaying in the wind. Franky loved the expanse of the blue sky and she loved those trees. She turned toward Bridget and found the beautiful blues already open. Gidge stroked lightly stroked her torso. “Did you sleep okay, darling?”

Franky nodded yes, even though she didn’t really know.

Gidge murmured: “Evidently I have a day of shopping ahead of me.” 

Franky propped herself up on her elbow. The back of her free hand gently caressed her lover’s face: “I know its not your favourite thing, Gidge.” 

Franky knew Bridget’s secret. That horde of jackets did not equate to hours upon hours in and out of dressing rooms. Bridget used a clothing service that provided her tailored and personalized items. Those she liked, she kept. Those she didn’t, she sent back. So, no, it was not her favourite thing, but she would do anything for her mother. And if they found something early on, the afternoon may still be salvageable. Jack loved to walk in wooded trails, and she knew of a perfect one.

Franky spent the morning on chores. She finished last night’s clean up and that of the morning’s abundant breakfast. She cleaned the bathrooms, and did the washing. She gave the floors a quick once over. She listed in her head the things she needed for tonight’s dinner, and she worked out their timings. Mental and physical activity focused her. She needed them to.

Around noon, Jack came in from the backyard and called for Franky. She hadn’t expected the family to push her so hard to join them for lunch downtown. Her first impulse was to say, “Fuck, no!” She and Bridget had been so diligent, so careful, about not being seen together. But this family thing – the pull of it – it was so strong. To miss a single minute? 

She craved more of this… whatever it was. Feeling new. Hope?

So they went in to town, Jack chauffeuring the rental car, the two of them chin-wagging like old friends the whole way. They found a great place to park, and found with ease the place Bridget had decided on for lunch. 

Jack cheerily stepped up to the hostess. Their party was probably already waiting, he told her. He and Franky both craned their necks, scanning. Sure enough – at a table just behind that pillar, sat the two most incredibly STUNNING ladies in the whole wide world. 

Franky’s heart skipped a beat. Actually, it pounded so hard, she was scared Jack would hear it and whisk her to the Emerg. They looked at each other and nodded. Happily (most happily), they made their way to the ladies. Beauty, grace, and unconditional love were their warm welcomes.


	6. Chapter 6

A ruined man with a seething psyche had been stalking Francesca Doyle since the bitch’s parole. Now, he raised his phone in front of his burn-scarred face and clicked. 

This scene – this one would be for more than his shrine. 

He’d drop it in her path like a breadcrumb, the perfect symbol of what he would take from her. He’d end the illusion that she could ever have these things she’d robbed him of. He’d burst that happy little bubble and make her pay.


	7. Chapter 7 - Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random thoughts.

I’m offering some *bonus* thoughts for sentimental Sapphics - and everyone else!

I began to think of what sitting around with the Westfalls that evening might have meant to Franky. 

What follows are her possible thoughts as she sits, for the first time, in a circle of unconditional love. 

\------  
Warning: random wanderings & most likely imperfect in places. Don’t look for rhyme (hopefully there’s reason) or perfect diction. Fuck the labels of whatever writing is supposed to look / sound like.  
\------

Inclusion. Chosen – not the foster kid looking on and looking in. Not the random alliance of prison mates.

This may have been her first inkling of safety and belonging in a family setting.

Her little heart must have been so heavy for so long. What a burden to carry: daily survival.

Blustery and brash – she needed to be to survive: she had to get in the offence first, take the first swing, pre-empt in order to protect. 

She probably never really rested. How can you, when you couldn’t let down your guard a single minute or show the tiniest ounce of fear?

What do I do with this hole in my heart? For one, build a protective wall around it. Two, fill it up with whatever.

One of our most basic needs to belong – to be tethered – by someone, somewhere, somehow. How did she make it all those years, a little girl with no anchor, not even a shore to swim towards?

\---

Hope

Her heart – ravaged, stomped on. Can pieces be whole? 

Her soul - treading watering: will she ever conquer the waves? 

The cavernous thirst in her soul and hunger in her heart. 

The burns and the wounds, the cruel words – can she believe they are undeserved??? 

What measure and nature of words can overcome the fate of ugly, mean, hateful, cruel, twisted words and looks? Ever?

Wariness, offence, brash words - never an assurance of joy at each and every turn.

Safety and shelter and warmth – did her little heart have a harbour? How does she learn to feel positive thoughts?

Worthiness, value – why should she believe Bridget? How did she come to trust Bridget? 

Hands - defensive, and balled into fists – will her hands unfurl, become soft, and giving?

Tough scars and burns - coloured-over: how hard would it be to show her real bare skin? To vulnerable? To make love? What a risk! Will she ever have soft, inviting flesh on her bones? 

How does the touch of a woman speak love, and how did she steel herself not to reject it?   
Can thick walls be cracked by pure patience? by a personal challenge (Bridget)? 

How did she ever dream that there'd be a hot girl in a hot car? What resilience. One tough cookie.

The sunrise and sunset – hope / trust makes it clear?


End file.
